NOCTURNE NO. 1 / OPEN, TEMP HEARING LOSS

[south]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify; width:500px;"]He was used to gunshots. They had never startled the man or caused him panic, only told him in which direction to return the gunfire. But with his time spent now in the lodge, this time, he could not speak the same for this moment as past ones. It was Max who reacted first- the canine rising from his side and bolting forward, out the lodge door and into the snow. Snowden had been the later one, swinging his rifle from it's strap to his hand as he followed after Max, both in concern of what happened, and worry that the next shot might land in Max's skin.

The man slowed as he approached the small gathering, first seeing the back of Johannes with his spear, Max already past him and next to a man lying in the snow beside Dahlia. Snowden's eyes carried him to J, who was knelt in the snow, gun nearby him. 'For fuck's sake,' the man couldn't help but think, a breath leaving him as he quickly reattached his rifle and tucked it back under his coat, slowly joining the group with furrowed brows.

He was lying down, a hand to his ears, and with J across from him, asking if he hurt him anywhere else, asking about his ears. Snowden's expression relaxed slightly as he realized the issue was with hearing loss, rather than a body or head wound. Usually, the brunette could help with gunshots, but one involved with hearing loss due to a gunshot? The man would sit back on this.

The male simply remained silent, his gaze resting on J, a mildly concerned expression on his face. Had this been because of his gun handling lessons with J? Would Johannes connect the dots and realize that, yes, it was J who shot Max as well? Snowden simply set his jaw in place, wiping the concern from his face as he turned back to Bruce and Dahlia. "There's nothing we can really do," He remembered how an explosive had the same effect on him at one time, and eventually it went away. He wasn't sure how badly the man's ears were damaged, but he also wasn't sure there was anything they could really do to heal it in any way. "We just need to get him out of the snow." He added, though he figured that was a given.

> edited real quick bc i misread something don't mind me

[DICK HOLIDAY.]

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Dick couldn't explain how he knew something was wrong. He and Win weren't actually attached at the hip, no matter how much time they spent at each other's sides; they were still independent people, however head-over-heels they were, and right now, Dick was inside, tying different colored bows to Honeybee in an attempt to find the color best suiting her. The pastel lavender and vibrant yellow were both competing for first place when the heavy, leaden stone dropped into his stomach, stilling his hands. "I think our man's in trouble," he murmured. Perceptive as she was, Honeybee gave a soft whine, and he lowered his fingers from the bow around her neck to look towards the door, just as he heard the sharp crack of a propelled bullet. In an instant, he darted from the floor, Honeybee at his heels, heart in his throat, hoping that in the end he would look like a fool for sprinting outside rather than appropriately worried for something that did happen. He didn't want to think about what that something was as his bare feet kicked up snow, fixating on the shocking cold against his skin instead of the possibilities of that gunshot's context, of its results.

Unbidden, memories rose to the surface of the last time his panic had been warranted, of the last time Win had been injured, and his breath caught in his throat. Once had been a time too many to find him collapsed, pale and bloodied, dazed eyes meeting Dick's as he pressed their foreheads together and tried to hide how much he quivered. He couldn't do that again. He'd already sworn, fingers pressed to that pallid scar at Win's throat, that it wouldn't happen again, but at the time he was painfully aware of his own powerlessness, proved by the multitude of other scars crossing his body.

Fortunately, for his own sanity, arriving at what he could see was clearly the scene of the incident, Win stood on his own feet, no pool of blood beneath him. The relief only lasted briefly once he noticed how he cupped his ear, expression tight. It didn't take long to put two and two together, although it didn't prepare him for the next wave of concern, rocking Dick forward, past the small group assembled around him. Johannes had already begun signing to him, although the others -none of whom he really knew- didn't seem able to address him the same way: silently, and actually interacting with him. One man offered his hand, although Dick didn't bother considering why- Win was standing relatively well, after being presumably deafened in one ear so abruptly. Honeybee pressed against his legs, Dick started forward again, weaving around the others to his better side, where he didn't clutch at his ear.

He didn't speak, covering the hand at Win's ear with one of his own, while the other cupped his cheek. Honeybee no longer brushed against his calves, and with a quick glance down, she was at the back of Win's legs. Later, he'd get her something special for that, but right now they needed their game plan. Johannes probably already made the suggestion of going inside, and his bare feet agreed with that notion; the problem was the level of noise that might be waiting for them. They weren't all necessarily loud, but even the hustle and bustle of everyday living might be too much for his ear. Dick dropped his arm from Win's cheek, wrapping securely around his waist instead, and he nodded his head toward the lodge, both questioning and recommending.

[rudolf.]

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[align=left][justify][size=9pt]Rudolf couldn't hear gunshots. He couldn't hear yells or screams or thuds or bangs or apologies or, well, anything. So it was almost a miracle that he had been able to see the group of people surrounding Bruce. He wasn't sure what was happening, not at first. It was hard to see from inside the lodge, and the crowd was blocking a lot of what was going on. After a brief moment of "am I really nosy enough to go out there?", the man stepped out of the lodge and onto the snow covered ground. It was cold, like always, but after the dog bite Rudolf had found himself especially susceptible to the cold that kept them safe. Still, it seemed like something important, and he didn't want to miss anything more than he already had.

By the time Rudolf approached the group, it was evident that something serious had happened; the faces of everyone gathered there held looks of worry, nerves, and pain. Eyebrows were pulled up in the center, people were ringing their hands, and, as usual (though he hated himself for even thinking it) Johannes looked most worried of all. Before the man could ask what had happened, his eyes zeroed in on the clumsily executed sign language. Unfortunately, it wasn't for his benefit; it seemed like they hadn't even noticed his arrival. Which meant someone else couldn't hear. He knew everyone gathered there at least enough to know that none of them were deaf, which meant that someone must have been injured. And after a brief survey of the small crowd, Rudolf walked up to Bruce, placing his good hand softly on his shoulder.

He didn't say anything, out loud or with his hands. He just kept a firm grip on the man's shoulder. He didn't know Bruce very well, but he knew enough about him to know that he didn't take well to weakness, and he was probably afraid, despite his usual demeanor. It was probably overwhelming for him, too. While Rudolf had never been able to hear, even he got overwhelmed by the separation, the confusion, the unknowing. So, while it was important to figure out what had happened and how it happened and to what degree, it was also important to provide understanding, comfort, and support. This, Rudolf could do with ease.

He was unsure of the amount of time he had just stood there, breathing slowly and a little exaggerated with the man in an effort to calm him down. How long he had gently squeezed his shoulder, applying enough pressure to get across a message of support but not to overwhelm him. He wasn't sure of anything that was going on around him and Bruce, keeping his eyes focused only on the struggling man in front of him. He wasn't sure if the man had even cared that he was there, or if he just wanted him to go away; it could very easily be one or the other or neither one. He was sure that he had done what he could, at least for now, to help Bruce calm down.

He was sure that if anyone could get through this, no matter the outcome, it was Bruce; strong, opinionated, fiery Bruce.

After what felt like both an eternity and mere seconds, Rudolf finally signed; one or both? it was simple, but still important. If Bruce couldn't hear at all, then it was a bit more complicated. Rudolf hoped, for Bruce's sake, that it was only one ear. But either way, he would be there to help. Finally taking in the area around him, the man found that the group was heading inside. They needed to go somewhere quiet, and he had just the place. "The library is always empty" he spoke aloud, signing for Bruce's sake.


[div style="bgcolor=; border: none; width: 385px; margin-top: -5px;"][spoiler=updated 7/6]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ rudolf joseph maroney
★ bisexual | male
★ 29 | june 8
★ member of flintlock lodge
★ open for plots

RECENT EVENTS:
★ to be added

IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ deaf | uses asl, reads lips, can speak aloud
★ he has a very heavy deaf accent
★ strong, skilled cook

PHYSICAL:
★ human | health: 100%
— fc. of Nyle Dimarco
— Rudy is 6'3'' muscular man. He has naturally tanned skin, and kind of a lot of body hair to be honest (he is italian, after all). He is pretty smoking hot attractive. His hands are calloused from years of hard work and heavy lifting.
— major injuries: serious dog bite on his right bicep
— minor injuries: none as of now

PERSONALITY:
— friendly, honest, genuine, humble, brave, intelligent, protective
— temperamental, emotional, dependent, blunt

INTERACTION:
★ he's really nice and always tries to help out
★ peaceful unless agitated
★ average in battle |  muscular but inexperienced
★ medium physically and medium mentally
★ open for family/adopted family + relationships
★ attack in BOLD GRAY
★asl in [b]bold italics, asl and voice in bold
★ can powerplay peaceful or nonviolent actions.
[/spoiler]

[BRUCE H]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.7pt;"]/ wrote the first half of this before sleeping, i hope it makes sense. roughly one paragraph per person?? i think? in order. kinda ran out of steam alsdkhjf sorry

There are so many people. The motions would track better on any other day, but today they're nothing short of a blur. First is Dahlia, and to be honest, he has no idea how she got here. Her lips are moving — he's gotten good at figuring out what people are saying from a distance, but her words are rushed and Bruce feels too dizzy to make any sense of it. But Johannes — Johannes isn't talking. He's standing there cautiously, though the spear is still there, and signing. It takes a moment for him to place the second word, but he knows the letters for the first. He remembers Andrew signing it at him and then pointing. Something friendly. Nice. Bruce doesn't miss it, though. Or him. Or anything from when he was most comfortable holding his pistol. His hands are gentler now, rough from working with wood and dogs, calloused but not dangerous. Finally, he manages to place the second word: inside.

He shakes his head, subtly, though it immediately makes him hiss again at the shifting heaviness in his head. The ringing worsens farther for that moment, and again when he tries to focus arctic eyes back on J as he does that thing Bruce had labeled slinky-ing, collapsing down to the ground and folding himself into what reminded him of a box. "Why are you on the ground?" he asks, though his voice is louder than he thinks it is, his tongue clumsy and words slurring faintly. Despite whatever reservations he may have about J as he is, Win can accept that he didn't intend this. It had been stupid, but not any stupider than the worst things Bruce has done. Whatever he feels isn't going to get in the way of rational thought — when he manages to place the word "sorry", he half-scoffs, though the sound mellows to a sigh as he shifts his weight back, the immediate dizziness finally gets the better of him. He gets it. It's fine.

After a moment, however, it subsides again. The ringing becomes distant, like a fly buzzing around his ear. Snowden was right to stand back on this one; there wasn't much that anybody could do for an internal injury, particularly where cutting into him to get a better look would only make it worse. The two of them know things like this. The injuries, the hurt. It's what people get when they're around violence their whole life, and even if Bruce still can't focus perfectly, he thinks he can place the expression on Snowden's face. The distance to it, like he knows enough not to worry too much. Eventually, this will pass. Either he gets used to not hearing or the ear does manage to heal — or he doesn't, and infection wins. That's something that only time will be able to tell. And as it is, Win hardly has the ability to think of that. Each second seems to pass slowly, or not at all. Time had never made much sense to him after being stuck in the dark. There was a reason he counted the days on a piece of paper.

Words begin to register. Slowly, and muddled, as if he's hearing through layers and layers of cotton instead of just the air and his hand. The combination is overwhelming in a way that he's not accustomed to. Trying to make sense of the words pouring out of their mouths over the buzzing in his ears, catching nothing more than glimpses of words on their lips. They talk too fast and not clearly, everything's too loud even when he can't hear, bombarded with a thousand sensations that weren't the ones he was looking for. But as usual, it doesn't take too much to settle him down. Dick looks worried, that much is obvious even when he can't quite focus on his face. He pushes through the crowd and were he feeling any better, he would laugh at the way he takes charge of the situation with slim fingers over his own, and the injured ear beneath — he always does this when someone he loves is involved. It's endearing, how badly he wants people to get better. The arm that settles around his waist is comforting, reminds him of a million other things, but the weight that he settles on him in turn is subtle. He hates seeming dependent. Vulnerable. Even, at times, when he's alone with him.

There's the familiar press of a dog at his heels. How many years had he spent with that feeling? Mostly they'd been begging for food, but when he looks down and looks at her, she's not asking for anything. Instead, the red brindle pattern alerts him something that shouldn't be there — really shouldn't. "You're not wearing shoes," he breathes, tongue still heavy between his teeth. Johannes's suggestion of inside had slipped over his head, but now it's something of a priority. Get him inside before he gets too cold.

He only makes it a step or two forward before a hand on his shoulder stops him. Unfocused eyes turn upwards again, narrowed only slightly. He's not used to feeling this disconnected from the world, though perhaps that's not the right word for what he's feeling. There's a flood of new things as he tries to make up for the loss. It's only been a few minutes and words are still hazy, yet Rudolf isn't speaking. His shoulders relax; he times the seconds that pass with the beat of his heart. Eventually, the hand on his shoulder moves, and Win watches him sign through something that doesn't register for a moment, but the ringing has gone down. One. Left, he signs back. The two of them had never been particularly close, yet right now there's a relief that he can't put words to flooding through him. Even if it may not be fair to compare their situations, he knows what this is like. Bad right. He knows that he can't isolate himself forever, however appealing the library may be — thank you, Win signs one more time, the pain subsiding enough for him to drop his hand from his ear.

"We should get inside."

[ashen]

build our fate over hollow ground—

[table]

[BRUCE H]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9.3pt; line-height: 1.4;"]/ i had no idea how to write this thread and i seem to have forgotten how to write in GENERAL hopefully this thread even makes SENSE. i'm only writing the aftermath because that makes more sense for me, but basically j was shooting at a tree and win was worried about him scaring the dogs what a nerd and got too close.
the noise was too close too much and resulted in a perforated eardrum. he'll have a hard time hearing out of that ear for a while + will have to deal with a constant ringing. it can't really be treated with tnw medicine.

The sound ringing in his ears is nothing, at first. An echoing emptiness that he hasn't felt for a long, long time. The last had been when he was bleeding out, a slow, slow waning of anything sensory. This, in comparison, had been immediate, a sudden loss. While there was a final memory associated with the emptiness that haunted him until he woke up able to hear (Dick's forehead pressed against his, the way that he trembled), the noise in his ears seems to have erased it all this time. A subtle ringing, now. Distant.

Pale blue eyes stare almost blankly, now, as the world catches up. He remembers shouting, a sharp, "Hey," that came from his chest, and the way that his boots had slipped slightly in the melting remnants of a snow patch. It had jumped up the back of his jeans, now slush along his socks. The sensation seems all the more intense for the lack of anything else — he sees in more colors than he should, even if very little of it makes sense. A thousand realizations pour through his mind in a matter of seconds. J's eyes are an unsettling, unnatural green. He's always had a problem with that color, even before Dick painted his nails the color of a herbivore's vomit, but now he's surrounded with it — the trees, the grass that peeks out through the snow. He can see the barrel of the rifle, and the pain is catching up. His hand is pressed to his ear, but there's no blood seeping through his fingers.

Just the ringing, and the ringing, and the ringing.

Someone else is talking — Bruce isn't sure if it's him or J or someone else, but then he doesn't feel his the vibrations of speech in his throat for a moment. The next: "Shit."

In a world built on the survival of those with the most guns, Bruce is familiar with rifles that can cause this sort of damage. He'd never had the misfortune of experiencing it himself, but he's known people who have. He supposes that some of it must be down to simple luck, which he as an abysmal lack of, in all honesty. Everyone knows that. The young man hisses loudly, eyes screwed shut as another sound aggravates it farther. Ringing, ringing, ringing. "I can't hear you," he insists, the colors he'd seen fading with the sheer pain pulsing in his inner ear, and his knees feel weak. (He survived gunshots and stab wounds and torture, but his knees feel weak from this of all things. It's not a positive sensation, either.) "Just stop."

[videnda]

☆ ★ ☆ dahlia had been trying to ask him what happened. she had heard the gunshot, come out and seen Bruce just standing there, looking really confused."what do you mean you can't eat me? oh my god that's not good, that is not good... I don't know how to fix that..." she didn't know sign language either, but she was pretty sure Bruce did so... if Rudy showed up that would... be good.

biting her lip, she looked over at J. "J? what happened? do you know why this happened?" she was really worried, she hoped that J didn't have anything to do with this because she wasn't she how long he would last in the group if he kept having accidents. especially eith guns, even though this was the first that she knew of.

[ashen]

build our fate over hollow ground—

[table]